Fool for Love

by Beth Ciotta

  “Not in my world.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Let’s approach this as adults, Miss Madison.”

  “By all means, Mr. Monroe.” She wanted to sock him.

  Hard.

  “Something sparked between us in Oslow’s and again at the river. We scratched the itch and now we can move on.”

  “Waaay past you,” Chloe said.

  “If you’d feel more comfortable moving back to New York—”

  “I wouldn’t dream of reneging on my agreement with Daisy.” Asshole.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Liar. It occurred to Chloe that she made Devlin as uncomfortable as he made her. Just now that thought brought her incredible joy. Knowing Daisy expected him for a traditional family dinner, she plunged the knife deeper. “See you Sunday?” she asked as she brushed past him.

  “See you Sunday.”

  Chloe stalked away, telling herself he wasn’t worth ten to twenty in prison. Poisoning his food wouldn’t do. But she could make it taste bad. Really, really bad.

  NINE

  “Holy shit. That was intense even for you.”

  Exhausted and muscles burning, Rocky went limp and fell against Adam Brody’s gloriously sweaty, amazingly awesome, and naked body. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  He laughed under his catchy breath. “Only in a good way.” Heart thudding in his chest, he stroked a gentle hand down her tense back, a soothing gesture that should’ve been welcome but wasn’t. “Want to talk about it?”

  “What?”

  “Whatever’s got you all worked up.”

  She wasn’t sure. Part of what bothered her was damn personal, revolving around love and relationships, marriage and babies. Hot topics tonight because of Monica’s baby-making talk, Rocky’s big brother’s possible attraction to Chloe Madison, and the way her cousin Sam kept sneaking lovelorn looks at Rachel all through the damned meeting. (When the hell was he going to break down and ask her out?) Things Rocky yearned for—someday, only as time crept by she wasn’t sure that day would ever come. She didn’t talk about stuff like that with Adam. It went too deep, and they’d agreed to keep things light. They were friends. Friends who had sex.

  Fuck buddies.

  Two people who liked each other, who enjoyed hot sex, but without the messiness and drama of commitment.

  She hated the urban moniker, but it sure did apply. She’d known Adam a long time. He’d been a classmate of Luke’s. She used to think Adam was kind of geeky, but then he’d relocated to Alaska for a while and, when he’d moved home, he’d morphed into a buff hottie—ten years older and ten times more confident. A sports fanatic, he freelanced for various local resorts, instructing tourists on everything from skiing (water and snow), to horseback riding, to snowmobiling. He was outgoing and good hearted and sucked at maintaining serious relationships.

  A perfect match for Rocky.

  The perfect alternative to celibacy—as long as they kept their rendezvous secret.

  “Still awake?” Adam asked.

  “Just thinking.” As good as he felt, she rolled off his body and stared up at her moonlit ceiling. “Oh, hell. Is that a crack?” Great. Something else she’d have to shell out money to fix.

  “It’s an old house, Rocky. Bound to shift and settle.”

  “It’s a really old house. It should’ve settled a long time ago.”

  Adam reached over and turned on the bedroom lamp. Braced on his elbows, he squinted up at the source of Rocky’s irritation. “Easily fixed with spackle, a putty knife, and sandpaper. I’ll stop over tomorrow.”

  She shot him a look.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re capable of handling it on your own, but look at it this way.…” He rolled on his side and playfully nipped her lower lip. “Gives me an excuse to be here in the middle of the day.”

  “Afternoon delight? The big, strong handyman and the helpless, horny innkeeper?”

  He waggled his brows. “I’ll let you play with my tool.”

  She rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. “I need a drink of water.”

  What she really needed was distance. Because her emotions were a little out of whack and because Adam was so damn nice, she really wanted to curl into his arms and cuddle. That would be bad. Either it would scare him off or … he’d expect it to become part of their routine and that would scare her off.

  Not wanting to ruin a good thing, she pushed out of bed and tugged on lounging pants and a tee.

  “Clothes on. Night over,” Adam said matter-of-factly.

  She trotted downstairs, trying not to feel guilty about kicking him out of bed so soon. Not that he ever slept over. It was one of their rules. Wherever they hooked up, they always parted before morning.

  Rocky moved into her kitchen and, without flipping on the light, crossed to the fridge. She ignored the loud hum and the random clank. Maybe if she ignored it long enough it would go away. She could not afford a new refrigerator just now on top of everything else. Nerves taut in spite of just having great sex, she wrenched open the door and nabbed two beers. The least she could do was offer Adam a drink before sending him off.

  “Fridge sounds funny.”

  “I know.” She shut the door and turned to find him on the threshold buttoning his shirt. “Beer?”

  “Sure.” He relaxed against the doorjamb and took a deep pull off the longneck.

  “Sorry if I’m a little bitchy tonight.”

  “No apology needed.”

  “So I am bitchy.”

  He just smiled.

  “It’s just…” She grappled for something she didn’t mind sharing. “Things are a little tense just now and the one activity that always brings me joy is fast becoming a total stress factory.”

  “Talking about us? Or Cupcake Lovers?”

  She almost laughed. “The latter, smart-ass.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Tasha’s making waves by putting too much emphasis on that damned recipe book.”

  “Thought everyone agreed it’s a smart venture. All proceeds going to charity.”

  “That part’s great. It’s putting the book together that sucks. Tasha keeps harping on the fact that whatever recipes we include have to be extraspecial. Otherwise we won’t get the interest we need or the notable sales to make a difference.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  Rocky glared.

  “Just sayin’.”

  She took a swig of beer, then set aside the bottle. “We need forty to fifty recipes. Which shouldn’t be a problem between our archives and the current members’ input. Do you know how many we have after three weeks of suggestions?” She held up six fingers.

  Adam raised a brow, sipped more beer.

  “Pathetic, huh? All because Tasha keeps shooting them down for one or another reason. She even nixed Gram’s latest submission. Called it too ordinary. Gram called her a pinhead, then let it drop.”

  “Don’t you guys vote?”

  “Tasha influences the vote. I’m telling you she could sell Speedos to an Eskimo.”

  Adam moved past her to set his bottle on the counter. “Sounds like someone needs to take Tasha down a peg.”

  “If you mean me, no can do. Not just now. She’s playing the sympathy card.”

  “Her mom?”

  “Mmm.” She noted his tender expression and resisted the urge to move into his arms. She could sure use a hug. What’s wrong with you, Monroe? “Everyone knows Tasha and I have been at odds since high school and everyone knows I was angling to be appointed as the new president of the club. If I don’t handle this right, it’ll just look like an old grudge or sour grapes.”

  “Or both.”

  “Also, if Dev convinces Dad to let him expand, he’ll need the city council’s approval. They’re influenced by the mayor, who’s influenced by—”

  “His wife.”

  Rocky’s oldest rival had married into her family’s oldest rivals. The Mo
nroes and Burkes had been at odds for eons.

  Adam tugged at her messy braid. “You’ll figure it out.” Instead of kissing her good night, he swatted her butt. “Be back tomorrow to spackle your crack.”

  “Somehow that didn’t sound right.” In spite of her cruddy mood, Rocky grinned as he breezed out the back door. She polished off her beer, cursed the fridge, then headed back upstairs. She thought about Gram and the way she’d called Tasha a pinhead after the woman had nixed her recipe. She thought about Chloe Madison—gourmet chef, former food critic. “I wonder.…”

  Did Chloe have the grit and wit to take down someone like Tasha?

  Rocky nabbed her laptop and, sitting cross legged on her bed, Googled “Chloe Madison” and “Food Critic” and came up with a link for an e-zine called Out and About New York. She located Chloe’s archived articles … and read.

  TEN

  Considering the intensity of the “river” incident and the “kissing” incident, Chloe was surprised and impressed with her ability to stifle thoughts of Devlin Monroe (mostly) for (almost) forty-eight hours. Whenever he popped into her brain, she asked herself if she really wanted to waste one second of her life obsessing on a controlling, infuriating man.

  No, she did not.

  She used that same tactic to vanquish thoughts of Ryan, replacing “man” with “cheating bastard.”

  It also helped that she kept busy, spending a large portion of her time getting to know Sugar Creek. The streets. The businesses. The people. Since she’d be doing so much shopping at Oslow’s General Store, she’d made a point of meeting the owner, Vince Redding, and his son Marvin, who referred to himself as the store’s lifelong manager, since his dad, who had to be in his early seventies, refused to retire.

  “Doin’ what I love keeps me young,” Vince had said with a crooked smile.

  Chloe couldn’t be sure, but she thought the amiable old guy had tender feelings for Daisy. He’d been a little too relieved when Chloe had mentioned she was working as the woman’s new companion.

  “About time someone took Daisy under their wing. She hasn’t been the same since—” He bit off his words, looked away, and scratched his snowy beard. “It’s good she’s not alone.”

  He’d piqued Chloe’s interest big-time. The same since what? Her husband’s death? The snowmobile catastrophe Chloe had heard so much about?

  Near as Chloe could tell, Daisy was loved and revered by her family and if she said the word, any one of them would take her in or under their wing. All the more reason Vince’s statement struck Chloe as strange.

  Also, Daisy had assured Chloe she wasn’t lonely, saying a day rarely passed without a visit or phone call from one of her kin. Sure enough, between Friday and Saturday Daisy received calls from her sister Rose, her brother-in-law Spike, and her friend Ethel Larsen. And that’s not counting other calls initiated by Daisy.

  Devlin’s siblings, Rocky and Luke, had dropped by as well as his cousins, Nash Bentley (a charter pilot) and Sam McCloud (a master furniture maker). After the initial introductions, Chloe had excused herself, not wanting to intrude on “family time” even though they’d been eager for her to stay and chat. Although they’d all seemed genuinely warm and friendly (unlike Devlin), she’d felt awkward (because of Devlin). So each time she’d begged off, saying she was up to her neck reorganizing Daisy’s kitchen and shopping and planning meals. Oh, and the Cadillac had needed an oil change, too. All true.

  Chloe’s goal was to minimize Daisy’s chances of a mishap. Reorganizing her shelves and pantry, so that she didn’t have to use a step stool to get to the things she needed most, seemed like a no-brainer. Keeping her old car in top-notch condition so that it didn’t break down on one of the many “scenic” drives she had planned seemed proactive. One thing was certain: Daisy, as Monica had pointed out, was a pip and had a mind of her own. Even though the woman had promised her family she’d rely on Chloe to do the cooking and driving, that didn’t mean Daisy wouldn’t “bend” that promise when she saw fit.

  Chloe swished pink gloss over her lips, the finishing touch to her subtly applied makeup, while her mind continued to wander. She’d met a lot of eccentric people in her vast and colorful circles, but no one quite compared to Daisy. Though she maintained a chipper persona, Chloe sensed a stifled touch of sadness. Or anxiety. She couldn’t be sure. Then again, she’d known the woman less than a week.

  A rap on the door jerked Chloe out of her musings. “You ready, kitten?”

  “Just a sec!”

  Chloe moved across her new bedroom, a lovely room decorated in varying shades of yellow and red. The custom-made furnishings, featuring hand-painted floral arrangements, intricate scrolls, and dainty birds, were stunning. She’d been shocked to learn the elegant furniture had been made by Devlin’s cousin Sam. Not so much that he’d mastered woodworking but that he’d painted such delicate scenes. A rugged man of few words, he hadn’t struck her as the artistic type. Learning he belonged to Cupcake Lovers was a double whammy. If Daisy hadn’t told her he was a widower and the father of two, she would’ve jumped to an obvious assumption.

  Focusing on the moment, she cracked open the door and smiled at her boss. “Wow. Gloves and everything.” Everything included a pink pillbox hat that matched her two-inch patent-leather pumps, and short-sleeved silk shantung A-line-style dress. Chloe had studied fashion design for six months, and that part of her brain revved as she assessed Daisy’s retro ensemble. Nineteen-sixties. A cross between Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn. Trendy chic.

  “My Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.” Daisy sniffed and tugged at the ruffled hems of her dainty gloves. “One old habit I’ve yet to shake.”

  She sounded downright miserable, yet Chloe thought she looked fantastic. “Why shed perfection?”

  “Keep saying nice things like that and I might start feeling bad about talking you into accompanying me to church.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to let you off the hook. I’d appreciate your company.”

  “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  She spun away and Chloe held her breath listening to those high heels clattering down the stairs. “Please don’t trip or fall.” Not that Daisy was sickly or fragile, but when her mind wandered, and it did that a lot, mishaps occurred. Last night while helping Chloe clear the dinner table (and pondering a radical change in hair color) Daisy had put the sugar bowl in the fridge and the leftover roasted asparagus in the pantry. Earlier that day, she’d nearly pruned her rosebushes to death while having an imaginary bitch fest with Tasha-the-Pinhead Burke, a woman Chloe had no interest in meeting anytime soon for fear of giving her an earful. She’d called Daisy’s recipe ordinary. Honestly? Chloe had thought the apple brandy drizzle inspired.

  Not hearing any shrieks or thuds, she assumed her boss had descended safely. Chloe scrambled to her dresser, desperate to spruce up her daffodil-yellow shift. She pulled on a three-quarters-sleeved black cashmere shrug and accentuated it with a lime-green flower pin, then swept her hair off her face with a matching lime-green headband. Last, she traded her ballet flats for black pointy-toed pumps. She studied her reflection in a full-length mirror and declared herself more Sunday-go-to-meeting suitable.

  Still … her stomach fluttered with dread. She hadn’t been to church in a long time. She wasn’t all that crazy about attending now. It conjured memories of her mom and dad and the way things used to be. Sunday had always been their special day. Family day. Church. Dinner. Snacking on bowls of buttered popcorn while watching their favorite TV shows.

  Chloe used to love Sundays. But then her mom had died and everything, everything, had changed.

  Squashing down morbid thoughts, Chloe hurried downstairs. When she reached the garage, Daisy was sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Crap.

  Rolling back her shoulders, Chloe opened the driver’s door and jerked her thumb. “Yo
u know the deal, Daisy.”

  The old woman bolstered her own shoulders. “Deal, schmeal.”

  “You cannot drive to church,” Chloe said reasonably. “You told me yourself a good portion of your friends and family attend. If you drive and anyone sees you…” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to get grief?”

  “We’re not going to church.”

  “We’re not?” She nearly wilted with relief. “Then where are we going?”

  “A Sunday drive,” Daisy said with a smile. “Usually I save that for after. But I’ve decided to buck tradition.”

  “What about Sunday dinner?”

  “Keeping that part.” She arched an already comically arched penciled brow. “You okay with that, kitten?”

  “Sure.” She could handle a couple of hours of Devlin’s company. That’s if he even showed. “But I’m not okay with you driving.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll relinquish the wheel, if you promise to let me drive once we’re out of town.”

  Chloe raised a brow. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes. Open stretch of road. No potholes. No sharp curves.”

  “Sounds … uneventful. What do you get out of it?”

  “Fifteen minutes of being in control.”

  “What do I get out of it?”

  “Fifteen minutes of bliss.”

  “Not sure what that means.”

  “You’ll have to take a leap of faith. Or … we can go to church.”

  The woman was shrewd. Chloe blew out a breath. “Slide over.”

  Daisy shimmied to the passenger side, then, as Chloe took the driver’s seat, pointed the remote at the garage door. The door swung open with a slow grind, allowing sunshine to spill in and over the Caddy. “See there,” Daisy said. “Beautiful day for a drive.”

  No argument there. Clear blue skies. Mild temp and lots of sunshine. “Won’t your family worry when you don’t show for church?”

  Daisy opened her pink and white handbag and pulled out a cell phone designed for seniors—big numbers, big buttons. She speed-dialed and a heartbeat later she smiled. “Yes, Rocky, dear, it’s me.… No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just … it’s Chloe’s first Sunday and she’s feeling jittery about dinner. We’re driving to Pixley. Oslow’s didn’t have the fresh herbs she needed for the…” She looked to Chloe.